


Contagion

by sesheta_66



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_creatures, Creature Fic, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Veela, Veela Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:24:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8313901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesheta_66/pseuds/sesheta_66
Summary: Draco isn't doing very well after the war - as if he hadn't been through enough already.  Then, to add insult to injury, he gets attacked by a mad creature just before returning to school.  That's when things really get strange.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Versatillite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Versatillite/gifts).



> **Prompt:** [#20](http://hp-creatures.livejournal.com/267482.html?thread=1471450#t1471450)
> 
>  **Creature:** Veela
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** This creation is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended. 
> 
> **Notes:** I loved your prompt, **versatillite** , and I hope you like what I did with it. Big shout out to C, my most awesome and speedy beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.

**Contagion**

Clothes sailed across the room, whizzing past Pansy's face and onto a growing pile beside Draco's trunk.

"Hey!" Pansy's affronted screech echoed in the otherwise quiet room.

"What?"

"You almost took my nose off is what."

"Well, you shouldn't have stuck it in the way." Draco turned back and scowled at his wardrobe. The contents remained obstinately still as though the thought of returning to school represented a personal affront. He knew how they felt. 

He wheeled on his friend. "Why exactly are we returning to Hogwarts again?"

She rubbed her nose and frowned, mumbling under her breath something about changing subjects. "I've been asking you the same thing for months."

Truth be told, he generally stopped listening to her once that familiar fear presented itself on her face. "Have you now?" Honestly, how was he expected to differentiate between her incessant whinging and legitimate questions?

"Yes, I have. And you insisted that we – not being war heroes like so many of our Gryffindor counterparts – would need to complete our studies _and then some_ if we had any hope of making post-war lives for ourselves beyond draining the meagre remains of our families' wealth."

Draco balled his hands into fists. The war reparations still irked him. Slytherins weren't the only ones on the losing side but they sure seemed to be the only targets of the Ministry galleon-grabbers. That they had been the main financial contributors to Voldemort's failed war effort was entirely beside the point.

He pushed back his irritation – something he had to do all too often of late; the injustices of life taunted him daily. "Yes, well, I was quite correct."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Then why did you ask –"

"It was rhetorical," he said, cutting across her whinging. Merlin, if he had to listen to any more– "Obviously I know why we must return, but it all seems so incredibly unfair."

Her face lit up. A bad omen these days. As expected, she did not let the opportunity slide. "I know!" And she was off. "Did you hear that Potter and Weasley got spots in the Auror training program?"

Of course he knew that. The whole bloody wizarding world knew that. Kingsley had announced it for all to hear at the stupid Gryffindor Lovefest, otherwise known as the Order of Merlin Awards Ceremony. On the three-month anniversary of the final battle, students had been tricked into sitting through the ridiculous affair. Had he not already been on tenuous ground, Draco would have up and left as soon as he'd figured it out. The headlines swam before Draco's eyes even now. _Auror Ranks to be Rejuvenated by Latest Generation of War Heroes – Potter and Pals to shake up the Ministry – Boy Who Lived to Lead New Generation of Aurors_.

Pictures of Potter and his stupid scar and stupid glasses hadn't been far from front page news for more than a day or two since the battle. And if that weren't bad enough, the wizarding world had to be subjected to pages of ginger hair and freckles as the Weasley clan paraded across the pages of every wizarding paper in London. Even some of the papers in France and Bulgaria featured stories of the bloody trio and their sidekicks.

"Draco, darling, your face is turning a disturbing shade of puce."

Draco drew his attention back to the present and breathed deeply for several seconds until he felt the heat in his face dissipate. Through clenched teeth, he asked, "Why would you bring up a topic such as that – one you know would cause my blood to boil?"

Pansy huffed and stood up. "You know, you're lucky I still come round, with the way you treat me."

He furrowed his brows, genuinely perplexed. "Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes – she'd been doing an awful lot of that lately, he noted. A rather unattractive trait, that. "Have you not wondered why Blaise and Greg have become so scarce?"

He didn't like the direction the conversation had taken. He turned back to his cupboard and began pushing-sorting-selecting additional items to accompany him to Hogwarts. "They told me they were busy preparing for school."

Pansy snorted. Another unattractive trait. "Blaise has servants aplenty for that and Greg simply shrinks and dumps all his belongings into his trunk without a thought. And they have all but a few books already. What do you imagine they need to prepare?"

Draco sent a dozen items flying across the room, nearly clipping Pansy in the shoulder this time. "What are you saying?" he asked. Okay, perhaps that had been closer to a screech. Pansy's appalling behaviour was rubbing off on him it seemed. 

Pansy drew a long-suffering breath, one that reminded him acutely of his mother's exasperation with him when, in his youth, he would have a rare but spectacular tantrum.

"Stop biting everyone's heads off!"

"I don't –"

"Yes, you do. From store clerks to house elves to friends and random strangers."

Well, he never.

"One of these days, you're going to push the wrong someone's buttons and he's going to push back with more than words."

Draco had had enough. With a wave of his wand – and some decidedly spectacular magic, if he did say so himself – he folded, sorted, shrank and packed his belongings perfectly in his trunk. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I'm perfectly lovely to everyone except those who give me a reason not to be."

Pansy snorted again, the undignified wench. "You are pleasant to your mother and only your mother."

"She saved my life!"

Pansy sighed and made her way to the door, the determination on her face fading to something resembling defeat. "Yes, she did, and we're all glad." She stepped into the hall, but turned around before walking away. "But you know that none of the rest of us tried to kill you or anything horrid like that. We're on your side too." And with that, she left.

***~*~***

Draco marched through Diagon Alley on a mission. He needed a few last minute items for class and was wholly unimpressed with Pansy for bailing on him. Now he was stuck here, on his own, pushing through crowds of blathering Hogwarts students.

It had been tradition – he and Pansy had always made their way to Diagon together under the guise of shopping, but really more to mock the ridiculousness of their fellow students. Outrageous fashion trends, hair styles, music, pathetic fangirls and fanboys swooning over the latest celebrity witches and wizards: nothing escaped their ridicule. It had always made the return to school just that much more tolerable for Draco. Without Pansy, though … well, now the whole experience was just plain annoying. 

Perhaps he should have sent one of the house elves instead. But, no, he really did need to replenish his potions supplies and he couldn't trust anyone else, least of all a house elf, to select the proper ingredients. Not that they wouldn't know what to get, but– He scowled. As soon as anyone got wind that a Malfoy needed something, they immediately tried to pull a fast one. Merchants had tried to short-change him, sell him sub-standard goods or, on one occasion, refuse him service altogether. Between that and the insults regularly thrown his way, Draco had virtually become a recluse for that first month after the final battle.

But Pansy would have none of that. She'd dragged Draco out of his room and strode proudly down the street with him, head held high, and had insisted that he stand up for himself. He smiled at the recollection. It had worked. He'd challenged those who challenged him or tried to rip him off and eventually they'd backed down. Not everyone, of course. But with her by his side, Draco could deal with the rest of them. Pansy had always been there for him. Only now she wasn't. He huffed at the unfairness that was his life.

Cheers and whooping from a large crowd in front of Draco brought him back to the present. _What now_ , he thought, as he looked for a way around the gathering. Seeing no opening, he began pushing his way through the throng. Seven or so people deep into the group, he finally saw what the holdup was. 

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, it's just a Veela!"

Sure enough, a tall, willowy blonde stood holding court – and holding up the shoppers – right in the centre of the street. Okay, well, she wasn't exactly in the centre of the street; she was, in fact, on the sidewalk, but still – she had caused a crowd to _fill_ the street and block Draco's way. And he was having none of it.

At Draco's outburst, several of the gatherers spun around and hissed - _HISSED!_ at him. 

"Would you all just move along already? I'm sure you can see a similar act at a local sideshow. People are trying to shop here!"

He pushed his way through the crowd, nearly knocking several people over in the process. He would have made it, too, if it hadn't been for that stupid Veela.

***~*~***

"I am not speaking to you," Draco announced as he hoisted his bag into the overhead bin. His arm protested the movement and he quickly took his seat across from Pansy.

She rolled her eyes, got up and slid the compartment door shut. "That might hold more weight if you hadn't just, you know, spoken to me."

"Bitch."

She returned to her seat and smoothed out her skirt. "Yes, well, so are you, darling. And here we are." She motioned around the private train car that they currently sat in. Their fellow students – even other Slytherins – had given them a wide berth. "Might as well make the best of it."

She was right. But he didn't have to like it. He rubbed his still-tender arm.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sounding more like she was filling in the silence than as though she really cared.

He straightened his back and glared at her, clutching his wound. "If you must know, I was attacked while shopping."

"What?" All hints of irritation with him vanished instantly as she gently grasped his hand in hers. "Oh, my god, what happened? Was it horrible?"

He nodded, pleased at her sympathy.

"Was it one of those turds from earlier in the summer? The ones that said all Malfoys should die?"

He cringed at the memory but shook his head.

"Was it someone from school? From one of the shops? A family member of one of the Dark Lord's victims?" Her voice escalated as she imagined all sorts of horrific fates Draco might have suffered. "It wasn’t … not a _Death Eater?_ " She whispered the last words, as though someone might be able to hear through the walls of the car.

He shook his head, clenching his eyes shut as he relived the moment. "Worse." 

Pansy gasped and reached for his hand. "Who was it then?"

"It was … a Veela."

Pansy's hands dropped his and she stared at him blankly.

He nodded. "She came at me and gouged my arm." Once again, his hand clutched at his wound.

"A Veela?"

"Yes, she attacked me – completely unprovoked, I might add. It was horrible."

"I'm sure."

"I could have died. _Died!_ "

"It's the Hippogriff all over again," she mumbled under her breath.

"Exactly!"

She rolled her eyes again and he wanted to smack her. Instead, he took off his robes and pulled up his sleeve, all too aware of the Dark Mark still present. To her credit, Pansy didn't flinch.

"It's a scratch," she said dryly.

"Thanks to my brilliance with potions and salves, it's healing well. But it was a gouge."

"No doubt you were in fear for your life." Her deadpan delivery didn't go unnoticed.

"I was."

Without another word, she turned away from his anguish, bundled up her own robe under her head and lay down. "Wake me when we're almost there." And she went to sleep.

***~*~***

The first thing Draco noticed when he entered the Great Hall was Potter. What the–?

"I thought he was going to Auror training," Pansy said.

"That's what the _Prophet_ said." He felt his irritation grow as he remembered the headlines again. "Typical."

"Hmm?"

"The _Prophet_ always posts rubbish."

Pansy shook her head. "No, I heard it from other, more reliable sources too. People at the Ministry. He and Weasley were all set to start training last month. I wonder what happened."

"He probably came back just to have another go at me."

It took a moment for Draco to realise that Pansy had stopped walking with him. "Hello? The table's this way."

She shook her head but made her way to the table. Once they were seated, she whispered, "You really are completely full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Well, whom else would I be full of?" He smirked at his own wit.

She raised a brow and smirked back at him.

His face reddened as the meaning hit home. "Shut up. You know what I meant."

"If you say so."

"I do."

He looked over at the Gryffindor table. Potter and Longbottom sat huddled together. Mini-weasel was there, but no big brother and no Granger. "Did you see the Weasel?"

She fussed with her robes as her eyes scanned the room. "Hm. Maybe he went into Auror training without Potter."

Draco laughed. "As if."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he's Potter's shadow. That's his role. Has been since first year. What would he know about doing anything without his fearless leader?"

"I don't know. It could happen, I suppose." She seemed to consider his words before adding, "And since when do you think of Potter as a fearless leader instead of a stupid scarhead?"

Well. He had nothing to say to that. Truth was, he didn't really know if he'd ever thought of Potter that way before.

 _Except when he rescued you from the clutches of death,_ his traitorous mind posited.

The sorting took far longer than necessary, what with the hat droning on for so long about mending fences, unity, cooperation, blah, blah, blah, togetherness. Greg looked ready to pass out by the time the food appeared. Draco hadn't given much thought to what he'd missed from Hogwarts until he tucked in to his meal, then looked across to the Gryffindor table. Potter was staring at him. Suddenly he didn't feel so ill-tempered about returning.

He snarled in Potter's direction, as was tradition, but Potter responded not with contempt, but with a chuckle and a tip of his glass in Draco's direction. Stunned, Draco's mouth fell open, which only served to make Potter laugh outright.

"See?" He poked Pansy in the ribs. "Potter's taunting me already."

She glanced at the other table, then back at Draco. Once more, she rolled her eyes at him. "You're an idiot."

He ignored her for the rest of the meal, and when it was done he hightailed it out of the room to wait outside for Potter.

An excruciatingly long time later – Potter was holding court while everyone fawned all over him – Draco finally got his chance. "Potter!"

Potter acknowledged him with a nod, then told his entourage he'd catch up with them later.

"What's up, Malfoy?"

"What are you doing here?" He hadn't meant to just blurt it out, but now that Potter was standing there, he was flustered. _What was that about?_

Potter chuckled, just like he'd done in the Great Hall when Draco had sneered at him. Only this time the timbre of his voice reverberated not too unpleasantly through Draco. "Well, hello to you too."

"No, it's just … well …" He didn't quite know how to talk to Potter. They'd never actually had a conversation. Taunting and arguing, yes, but …

"Yes?" Potter looked far too amused.

"Stop smiling at me!"

Potter blinked, but the smile remained firmly in place. "Why?"

"Because we hate each other." Honestly, had he taken one too many spells during the war?

"I don't hate you, Malfoy."

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. Of course Potter hated him. Just like Draco hated Potter. That was just the way things were. Only he didn't really hate Potter any more, did he? And if he were honest with himself, he's not so sure he ever had hated him.

"Yes, you do. Stop pretending like you don't. This is some sort of ruse and I'm calling you out."

Now Potter laughed outright and raised his hands in defeat. "I don't hate you, but if it makes you feel better to think that, who am I to stop you?"

Draco shook his head, perhaps subconsciously trying to shake off the absurdity of this conversation. "You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

Potter folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. Despite the luminous robes he wore, Draco couldn't help but notice the muscles in his arms. When had that happened?

"I would have thought that was obvious." He stared at Draco as he let the statement hang in the air between them.

Why was Potter being so cocky? And when did he become so confident, standing there all casual and amused, with his stupid eyes twinkling behind his stupid glasses? "Well?" 

Potter pushed away from the wall and took a step towards Draco before leaning down to whisper in his ear. If Draco hadn't been so stunned by Potter's frankly bizarre behaviour, he might have stepped back, but instead he stood frozen to the spot.

"I'm here to go to class and get my NEWTs."

Draco shuddered slightly. Potter's breath brushed his ear and his voice awakened something inside Draco. It took a moment for Draco's brain to work out the words Potter had said, what with his body's reaction to their proximity.

He cleared his throat and took a step back. "Very funny."

Potter refrained from laughing outright, but his shoulders shook slightly. He shrugged. "That's why I'm here."

"But you don't need your NEWTs. You got accepted into the Auror program. You don't have to be here."

"Keeping tabs on me, Malfoy? You might want to be careful." He looked around conspiratorially, then whispered, "People might talk."

Draco threw his hands up in exasperation. "I don't _keep tabs_ on you. It's not my fault that the _Prophet_ dedicates nearly half its pages to the current comings and goings of the Saviour."

For the first time, Potter looked uncomfortable. A blush crept up his neck onto his face and he fidgeted. _That_ was the Potter that Draco knew.

"I wish they'd stop," he grumbled. 

"Sure you do."

Potter scowled and his body went rigid. "Whatever. See you around, Malfoy." And he left.

Unbidden, Draco felt a pang of guilt for wiping the grin off Potter's face.

***~*~***

The next morning, unease crept under Draco's skin when Potter didn't show up at breakfast. To the best of his recollection, except when he'd been in the hospital wing or otherwise busy scheming or something, Potter had never missed breakfast.

Draco rubbed at his arm. The wound had nearly healed but now it was itchy. His mother's voice echoed in his head, admonishing him not to scratch. He settled for squeezing it occasionally to ease the itch.

Relief came with the sight of Potter outside the Transfiguration classroom. He was munching a piece of toast, and both he and Longbottom were surrounded by fangirls. Irritation took over and Draco found himself pushing the fangirls aside, like he'd done to the crowd around the Veela. He grabbed his arm to protect it as he pressed ahead.

"Out of the way, people. Some of us are interested in an education." He glared at the girls, and a couple of boys. They broke apart but didn't say anything. "Can't you leave the man to eat his breakfast in peace?"

Without a glance at Potter, he made his way into the classroom and took a desk near the back. He was pleased to note that the fangirls made their way in, looking abashed. Longbottom followed, rolling his eyes at Draco as he passed – had he been taking lessons from Pansy? – and Potter brought up the rear, shoving the last bite of toast into his mouth as he crossed the threshold. He gave Draco a curious look, then took a seat next to Longbottom near the front.

Just as McGonagall began her lesson, Pansy snuck in while her back was turned. 

"Nice of you to join us, Miss Parkinson. That'll be five points from Slytherin house." 

Pansy cringed. "That stupid –"

"Make that ten."

Pansy opened her mouth to respond and Draco squeezed her arm. "Sorry, Professor." 

Draco released her arm and asked, "Where were you?"

She motioned towards McGonagall and mouthed, "Later."

Transfiguration had never much appealed to Draco – not because of the subject matter, but because of the teacher – but he was particularly distracted today. He kept finding his mind drifting as he stared blankly at the back of Potter's head. And his shoulders. He kept replaying that confrontation in the hall and imagining what those muscles might look like without his robes on.

His arm stung and he squeezed it.

"Oh, give it a rest," Pansy said. "It's a scratch."

He waved away her comment and went back to watching Potter. At one point, Potter reached around to rub the back of his neck and Draco nearly whimpered as those fingers …

_What was wrong with him?_

***~*~***

As Draco headed for his next class, Potter's voice echoed from behind him. "Oi, Malfoy!"

He didn't stop but he slowed to give Potter a chance to catch up. Potter grabbed his arm and Draco winced.

"Sorry." Potter looked worried. "Are you okay?"

Draco shrugged. "You just startled me is all." Potter looked at his arm as though it would tell him differently. Draco waved it in front of Potter's face. "What did you want?"

Momentarily confused, Potter recovered quickly. "Oh. Right. I just wanted to say thanks."

"For what?"

"For breaking up the crowd before class."

He looked Potter in the eye, trying to see if he was having Draco on. His eyes were suddenly all Draco could see. They held him in place. He didn't recall ever being in such close proximity to Potter before, without them coming to blows. Potter blinked and the spell was broken. What had Potter been saying? Oh, yes. Draco shrugged again. He shouldn't do that; his mother would be horrified if she could see him. "They were in the way. I hate when people get in my way. Very inconsiderate."

Potter chuckled and Draco felt it again. "Whatever the reason, thanks."

Unable to form words – he could hardly believe Potter was thanking him – he simply nodded and Potter left.

The rest of the day passed with Draco in a haze. He hadn't registered much of anything any of the professors had said and he was wondering how he'd ever pass his NEWTs at this rate. It's not like last year's classes had taught him anything useful.

And this thing with Potter. What was that? Why was he being nice to Draco, and why the hell couldn't Draco stop thinking about him?

He rubbed his arm absently. The itching was driving him mad. Maybe that's why he couldn't concentrate, and it had nothing to do with Potter. That must be it.

***~*~***

The next two days were marginally better. He was able to focus more, though he wondered if that might be because Potter wasn't in his classes those days. Not much of an Ancient Runes, Alchemy or Arithmancy person, Draco supposed. Given the small number of eighth year students, they took most of their classes together. He'd breathed a sigh of relief that they wouldn't be grouping the seventh and eighth year students together, except for a couple of classes.

He stood looking out into the courtyard, thinking. Ravenclaws had always been an okay group, and strangely enough, Draco no longer hated the joint classes with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Who would have ever guessed he'd feel that way? He'd been so agitated all summer and hadn't wanted to come back to school at all. But now that he was here, it wasn't so bad. Not nearly as bad as life in the real world.

"Something wrong?"

The voice came without warning but he'd recognise it anywhere. Potter. "Excuse me?" he asked when Potter came up beside him.

"Your arm." Potter motioned to Draco's left arm and only then did he notice he was rubbing it. "You keep rubbing it. It looks like you're in pain."

Draco shrugged. "It's more a dull ache now. Sometimes itchy."

"What happened?"

Not sure why he did it – to garner some sympathy perhaps? – Draco undid his cuff and pulled up the sleeve. "Veela."

Potter's eyes widened as he took in the wound. Suddenly Draco felt stupid. Pansy was right – it looked like a minor scratch at most. "You were attacked by a Veela? When?"

Draco nodded. Not sure if Potter was having him on, he kept his voice neutral. "A couple of days before school started. I was in Diagon Alley and … well. It's nothing, really." 

Feeling foolish, he went to pull his sleeve down, but Potter reached out to stop him. Potter narrowed his eyes, looking carefully at the now fading scratch. "That's nearly a week. By the looks of this, it's still a bit raw. Shouldn't it have healed by now?"

"I don't know, Potter. I've never been scratched by a Veela before." He tried to pull back his arm, but Potter held on, staring. "I have used a healing salve and it seems to be working well."

"Looks more like a gouge than a scratch to me. Has Pomfrey taken a look?"

Surprised by Potter's apparent concern for his wellbeing, Draco shook his head.

"She should. It looks like it went deep, and you never know what damage might have occurred beneath the surface." He looked up and continued. "Infections can spread quickly."

Potter's eyes returned to the wound, then drifted to the tainted flesh of Draco's inner arm. "So I was right."

His voice had been so faint, it took a moment for Draco to process what he'd said. He yanked his arm away and opened his mouth to spit out a worthy response when Potter reached out and took his arm once more. The gentle touch stole Draco's words before he could even formulate them.

Potter's thumb brushed over the Dark Mark as he stared, not looking angry or even disgusted. "Does it hurt?"

Draco blinked before moving his gaze to Potter's scar. "Not anymore," he said.

Potter nodded and released Draco's arm. "Good."

***~*~***

"Well that sounds surreal," Pansy said after Draco told her what had happened.

"That's what I thought. What do you think it means?"

She shrugged. "Who knows? And, frankly, who cares? It's Potter. He probably doesn't want you to die after he went to all that effort to save your sorry arse during the last battle."

Draco cringed. Curse Greg for spilling that one to Pansy. She'd taken to using that knowledge to torment him at every possible opportunity.

Ignoring her remark, he pressed on. "Why would he ask if the Mark hurt? Do you think his scar still hurts? I know it did before, but I haven't seen him rubbing at his forehead like he used to."

Pansy stopped fussing with whatever she had in front of her and levelled him with a stare. "Oh, for the love of Merlin, please tell me you're not obsessing over Potter again."

"What? Of course not." Where had that come from? "And what do you mean _again_? I've never obsessed over him."

She snorted. Then had a good long chuckle at Draco's expense. Once she recovered, she looked at him, all wide-eyed and innocent. "Oh, you were serious?"

"Fuck off."

"Just tell me I won't have to listen to you whine incessantly about the twat all year."

Draco scowled, picked up his books and retreated to his dormitory.

***~*~***

That night Draco dreamt of Fiendfyre and broomsticks, Dark Marks and lightning bolts, and feather-light caresses on his arm. He awoke in a cold sweat, disturbingly aroused.

He wouldn't be sharing _that_ with Pansy, or anyone else.

***~*~***

He arrived in Potions to discover Potter already there, talking to Slughorn. Under the guise of arranging his things on the desk, Draco strained to listen. Was Potter actually asking for help? Like he cared about the subject?

Slughorn, ever the Potter fan, chuckled and shook his head. "Harry, m'boy, you don't need any help. You just need to focus. Why, you could probably teach this class."

Draco rolled his eyes and Potter cringed. Shoulders hunched, Potter turned away and headed for the desk in front of Slughorn. As Draco watched Potter slide into his seat, some uncontrollable urge overcame him. When Slughorn made his way to the supply cupboard, he found himself standing in front of Potter's desk.

"Potter, we both know you're pants at Potions." He let out a long-suffering sigh to emphasise the point. "If you really want help, come sit with me." Potter's stunned expression reminded Draco that they hated each other, whatever had happened in that last battle. He opted not to dwell on the fact and instead raised his brow. "Scared, Potter?"

Potter's lip twitched almost imperceptibly before he narrowed his eyes at Draco. "Angling for someone to chop your ingredients for you?"

Draco smirked and lifted his arm. "Well, I am injured, you see."

Then, astoundingly, rather than tell Draco to get bent, Potter did the strangest thing. He burst out laughing. "Alright then," he said. He picked up his rucksack and ambled over to join Draco at his desk. "We'll team up."

Really, no matter the eventual outcome, it was worth it to see the looks on their classmates' faces as they filed in. Not to mention Slughorn's.

***~*~***

"Did you learn absolutely nothing during six years of class?" Draco wanted to pull out his hair, he was so frustrated. They'd been in the library for over an hour now and he was beginning to regret offering to help Potter with Potions.

Potter looked behind him, checking if anyone had heard Draco. Seeing no one, he rounded on Draco. "As a matter of fact, I learned a lot. But whenever Snape hovered over me and breathed down my neck, my annoyance with him overrode my brain's ability to concentrate. And now here I am, with another Slytherin breathing down my neck."

Draco looked at Potter's neck then. The vein on the right side throbbed slightly below the skin's surface, a surface that was slowly gaining colour as Potter got more annoyed. Draco's brain conjured images of other situations that might cause Potter's skin to do that.

"Malfoy!" 

Draco jumped, shaking off his wayward thoughts. _How disturbing._

"Have you even been listening?" Potter had been talking to him. Apparently. Draco blinked. He'd been wholly caught up in the play of light against the other man's skin and the inexplicable desire to find out what it might taste like if he ran his tongue along the length of Potter's neck. He hadn't registered anything Potter had said.

Now it was Draco's skin that burned. 

Potter's face turned from angry to concerned in a heartbeat. "Are you okay?" He reached across the table and touched his hand to Draco's forehead. 

Draco pulled back automatically. "What are you doing?"

Potter pulled his hand back. "You look flushed. Your face is all red. I was just trying to see if you have a fever … or something." He glared at his hand as though it had acted on its own.

"Oh." Really, what could he say to that? It's not like there was any precedent for this. They'd spent years hating each other and the only physical contact they'd had was to try to beat the crap out of each other or when Potter had …

He felt his face burn even more, as though still in the room with the Fiendfyre. 

Potter's eyes widened before falling to Draco's arm. "Did you see Pomfrey about your arm?"

Draco frowned, wondering what the hell was going on. "No."

"That's it. We're going to the hospital wing right now." He gathered their papers and shoved them all into his rucksack. "You might have an infection." 

Madame Pince shot them a look from her desk and looked poised to come over to shut them up. Draco leaned in to whisper to Potter. "I don't have an infection."

Potter raised a brow. _Since when could he do that?_ "You'll pardon me if I won't take your word for it. You look like hell and I'm not taking no for an answer."

Draco shivered. Potter's apparent concern coupled with that commanding tone _did_ something to him. He wasn't sure he liked that.

"See? You're shivering too." He hauled both their belongings off the table and motioned for Draco to get up. "Let's go."

Draco decided it would be easier to just go along. And he had to admit – though certainly not aloud – that Potter might have a point about his arm.

***~*~***

"Madame Pomfrey!" Potter threw open the hospital wing door and led the way inside.

"Potter, shut it. What if someone's in here?"

Potter looked confused but before he could say anything, Madame Pomfrey arrived.

"Quite right, Mr Malfoy. Do keep your voice down, Mr Potter."

Potter looked at his feet as all bravado drained from him. "Sorry. But Draco here –"

 _Draco?_ Since when did Potter call him by his first name?

"What did you do to him, Mr Potter?"

Potter's mouth gaped open and Draco smirked. "I didn't do anything." He looked to Draco as if he were going to help explain. Not bloody likely. He'd got dragged down here. Potter could go ahead and answer for himself. 

"Well, except bring him down here to see you. You see, he's got a scratch on his arm."

"A scratch?" Pomfrey's expression morphed into disbelief. "You thought a scratch warranted a hospital visit?"

Before Draco could answer, Potter launched into an explanation. "A Veela took a big gouge out of his arm. He treated the wound with salve and whatnot, but it hasn't healed. It's been nearly a week and that didn't seem right to me. You're always able to mend me in no time. Plus he was getting all flushed and shaking and … well, I was worried he might have an infection."

 _Worried._ Potter had just said he'd been worried. About Draco. This was getting stranger and stranger.

Turning a sceptical look towards Draco, Pomfrey asked, "Is this true?" He nodded. What else could he do? It wasn't as though he could tell either of them the real reason for his traitorous body's reactions. Besides, if Potter was right, he might really be sick. Best to be sure.

"Very well. Thank you Mr Potter. You may leave now."

"But–"

She shooed him away. "Rest assured I am capable of seeing to a scratch – or even a gouge – thank you very much. And you have no need to be here."

"Okay." He looked like someone had kicked his pet crup. "I'll catch you up later, D-- Malfoy. I'll hang onto your things."

Draco nodded. This whole situation was surreal.

Once Potter had left, Pomfrey turned to him. "Problem speaking, too, Mr Malfoy?"

He shook his head, then cleared his throat. "No. I just … well, that was strange."

She raised her brows. "You mean that Mr Potter brought you here rather than sending you here?"

"Excuse me?"

"As I recall, the two of you spent much of your time in the past causing each other's ailments rather than trying to help."

He nodded. "This is very strange."

"So you said. Now, hop up on the bed and let me have a look at that arm."

***~*~***

Draco opened and closed his fingers as he exited the hospital wing, adjusting to the tight bandages Pomfrey had put on his arm. Turned out Potter had been right. Not that it was a big deal, but she had acknowledged that he had a bit of an infection and that he should perhaps see a Healer directly the next time he annoyed a magical creature.

Affronted at her accusation, Draco had tried to leave but she'd sat him down and gone about her business, reopening, cleansing and then mending the wound. She'd put some salve on it, cast another healing spell, then bandaged him up and sent him on his way.

He entered the corridor and almost tripped over someone sitting on the floor. "Potter?"

He scrambled to his feet and looked at Draco's arm. "That took a while. Are you okay?"

He nodded. "Turns out I had a bit of an infection."

Potter nodded, looking rather smug.

He tried not to read too much into the fact that Potter had sat there waiting for him. He chalked it up to the hero complex he had and the fact that his sidekicks weren't around. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind about becoming an Auror."

"What?"

"To become a Healer?" Honestly, the man was slow.

Potter grinned. "Nope. Just glad you're okay." He looked back at Draco's arm, concern written all over his face. "You are okay, right?"

"Indeed. Apparently you have saved my life yet again, Potter." He flexed his fingers again. "My hero," he deadpanned.

"Piss off."

"No can do. You're stuck with me."

Potter's cheeks turned pink. Draco liked that look. He smiled wryly. "We weren't done the Potions lesson yet." Potter's face fell and Draco laughed.

***~*~***

Three days later, the strangest thing in the whole of his time at Hogwarts happened. Draco and Potter had just spent an extra hour in the Potions classroom, after hours, and their work had paid off.

Potter, without any instruction from Draco, had managed their latest Potion perfectly. And he seemed confident about it, too. 

Draco had noticed that this seemed the only place where Potter's new-found confidence had not presented itself and he'd pointed this out. 

Potter had explained that the ghost of Snape's looming figure, though invisible, remained there, both haunting and taunting him. And that Slughorn put too much confidence in him. Too much pressure.

Draco found himself reassuring him, explaining that Snape would certainly have better things to do in the afterlife than come back to see Potter. He went on to say that Slughorn was an idiot and would give Potter a pass even if he blew up the classroom.

Wonder of wonders, Potter had grudgingly agreed with Draco's assessment of both men and had smiled with what could only be described as enormous relief. Shoulders set, determination replaced defeat in his approach, and the barrier to learning had fallen.

He remained painfully behind, but his mind seemed up to the challenge of catching up. And he'd thanked Draco. Said he owed him.

Now Draco found himself walking towards the Great Hall feeling proud. Proud of himself for doing the seemingly impossible. And proud of Potter. A peculiar feeling welled up in Draco and he didn't know quite what to make of it.

They rounded a corner and saw a crowd of Potter's fan club. Draco instinctively grabbed Potter's robes and dragged him into an alcove. He cast a Disillusionment spell as an extra measure. When Potter opened his mouth, Draco put a finger on his lips to prevent him speaking. "Your fan club," he mouthed.

Potter's eyes went wide and he nodded.

They stood like that while the girls passed and for a couple of moments longer. Only then did Draco realise he hadn't taken his finger away. Nor had Potter moved. He looked at Potter's mouth curiously, then slowly moved his finger away, dragging it across Potter's lips in the process. 

Potter's tongue brushed against his lips, as though verifying that Draco's hand was gone.

Without giving himself time to think, Draco pressed his own lips to Potter's. He had to taste those lips for himself – a little salty. And feel them – soft, pliant and responsive. Oh, yes. When his lips parted, Draco didn't hesitate to deepen the kiss. Holy shit, he was kissing Potter. And Potter was kissing him back.

Then Potter's hands climbed Draco's back leisurely before his arms encircled him and drew him in. A moan escaped one of their mouths as their bodies lined up perfectly.

The kiss both lasted forever and was over in an instant. They reluctantly drew apart but remained in place, breathing laboured and both looking stunned.

Draco's eyes took in Potter's full lips and dazed eyes and knew he must look the same. 

What had just happened? Why wasn't Potter saying anything? He probably thought Draco was mad. Draco thought he was mad. What had he been thinking? He hadn't been thinking at all. He'd acted on a whim. But Potter had kissed him back. And what a kiss. Draco lifted his hand to his mouth. Potter sucked in a breath as he did and the spell broke.

"I– I have to go," Draco said and he took off.

***~*~***

Draco made it to Slytherin without running into anyone – thank Merlin for the call outdoors of sunny weather – but cast a few spells on himself to be sure no one suspected what he'd been up to. Who was he kidding? No one in their right mind would suspect _that._ Draco barely believed it and it had just happened to him.

He made it to his room and threw himself onto his bed, his fingers returning to his lips as though reassuring himself that yes, he really had just kissed Harry Potter.

What the hell was wrong with him? What was going on?

He'd been drawn to the man ever since he'd seen him that first day. He'd even offered to help him in Potions, for fuck's sake. Then he'd found himself _proud_ of him, if his own feelings were to be believed.

But this was beyond the pale. He'd _kissed_ the man! What was up with that?

A voice in his head reminded him that Potter had kissed him back too. It was all crazy.

Draco replayed every interaction he'd had with Potter since they'd returned to school. Potter's confidence. How he'd not risen to Draco's bait, but rather met his attempts with good-natured teasing. Almost like they were friends rather than enemies.

Potter's concern for his well-being was also a mystery. Draco's hand instinctively reached for his injured arm, better now, but still slightly tender to the touch. He'd been right – Draco had had an infection, however minor. And he'd made sure Draco got it seen to. And he'd seemed so relieved—

Oh, God. The infection! It was more than a casual infection. It was all clear to him now. He was _infected_! That Veela must have infected Draco with her blood. That was why the wound hadn't healed properly. And that was why Draco was feeling the way he did.

Draco was a Veela now. He swallowed hard, trying not to be ill. And Potter must be … must be … his _mate._

That explained everything! They didn't actually _like_ each other. They were just prisoners of the Veela spell.

He had to tell Potter. And then they had to cure him – them – so they could go back to normal. Back to hating each other. 

But Draco wasn't so sure he wanted to go back to hating Potter. As strange as it was to think this, he'd quickly grown used to having Potter as a friend.

But he wasn't just a friend now, was he?

***~*~***

Potter's eyes nearly popped out of his head as Draco marched towards him in the Great Hall. Perhaps he thought Draco planned to ravage him right there at the Gryffindor table.

"We need to talk." Draco tried to convey his urgency with his eyes. "Now."

"Er …"

"Alright there, Harry?" Longbottom asked. Potter nodded.

"We can get rid of him if you want," the Weaselette said, twirling her wand. 

Draco barely resisted cringing. He remembered her Bat-Bogey hex all too well. He sneered at her instead. "I'm sure Potter can handle himself just fine without his ex coming to his defence.

Potter recovered and stood. "I'll see you later, yeah," he said to no one in particular, then followed Draco out. He led them to a disused classroom, closed the door and cast a locking spell.

When he turned round, he saw Potter leaning against a desk, arms crossed over his chest, looking half curious, half guarded. As he stepped forward, Potter's breath hitched.

"Relax," Draco said. "I'm not going to attack you."

Potter tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure if that's supposed to comfort or disappoint."

Draco coughed. Fair point.

After a few awkward moments of silence, Draco plunged ahead and told Potter what he thought was going on.

"So you don't think we're acting like ourselves because of a scratch?"

"A gouge, Potter. And, as you may recall you rightly pointed out, an _infection._ I think that wound was more than it seemed."

"Did Pomfrey warn you this might happen?"

He frowned. "No, she just said it could have been worse, but that I'd be right as rain in a few days."

"But you disagree?"

"How else do you explain this?" He waved his arms between them. 

Potter shrugged. "Years of pent-up frustration? Lust disguising itself as hate? Relief at being able to be normal after years of the fear of war followed by actual war?"

Draco paused to consider Potter's words. "Given this a lot of thought, have you?"

"Not really." Potter pushed himself off the desk, dropped his arms and took a few steps towards Draco. Draco tensed. "But after you kissed me, I'll admit my mind started racing, trying to figure out some explanation for this that might make sense, considering our past."

"And pent-up frustration is the best you could come up with?"

Potter shrugged. "It's better than being under some Veela spell, don't you think?"

"I don't know what to think. That's the problem."

"Then don't think." Potter stepped towards him and Draco stepped back. Potter kept coming, his eyes holding Draco's, smouldering behind his glasses. Draco felt like prey being stalked. Then his back hit the wall and Potter grinned. He was all confidence now, no more shell-shocked haze over his features. "Don't think," he repeated before pressing their lips and bodies together at once. 

Powerless to resist, Draco went with it. His heart raced in his chest and his hands took on a life of their own, drawing Potter closer but not nearly close enough. When Potter's tongue dove in, Draco's thoughts vanished and all he could do was _feel._

***~*~***

The next day, Potter cornered Draco on his way to breakfast. He hauled him into another alcove – there was really no end to these tucked-away places in the castle – and Draco wondered if he was about to kiss him right here where anyone might see as they passed. He wasn't sure if he would have it in him to stop Potter. Or if he'd even want to.

"I talked to Hermione last night. After you told me your theory."

Draco blinked. What was he on about?

"She says you can't catch Veelaism. There's no such thing. You have to be born a Veela."

Draco tried to imagine their conversation and that all too familiar rage of late awakened in him. Had Potter shared what had happened between them? Draco felt betrayed. "What did you tell her?"

"Nothing, really." His eyes shifted around, looking anywhere but at Draco.

"You're lying."

"No, no. I'm not. I just said that someone – I didn't mention you by name – had been scratched by a Veela and wondered what the effects might be. Then when she didn't say anything about catching the condition, I asked outright."

"And she is an expert on Veelas?"

"No, but she reads a lot. And if she doesn't know something, she looks it up. She works at the Ministry now and has access to all sorts of books. She Floo-called me back this morning to say that there's no recorded case of anything like that happening."

"So what are you saying? That we should just assume this one has nothing to do with the other? That we shouldn't be concerned?"

Potter shrugged. "It just seems that we needn't worry about something that's not even possible."

"Because nothing strange, nothing that's never happened before, has ever happened to you. It's never happened before, so it can never actually happen?"

"Er ..."

"During your discussion with Granger, did she happen to mention that Veelas mate for life?"

Potter blinked but said nothing.

"I thought not. Once a Veela and their mate consummate their relationship, there is no breaking them apart. No going back. An unbreakable, magical bond is formed." He let his words hang in the air between them. "It's not something to take lightly."

Potter hesitated a moment before responding. "But you're _not_ a Veela. That's the whole point."

"Are you sure about that?" Draco closed the distance between them, placed his hand against Potter's chest. In that moment he didn't care who walked by. He could feel the muscles beneath Potter's shirt and longed to run his hands over the bare skin beneath. He leaned in and pressed their lips together, gently at first. He let it build, teasing then exploring with his tongue. Potter moaned in appreciation and deepened the kiss, bringing his hand around to hold Draco behind his neck, as though he might escape otherwise. As if Draco wanted to. He could happily remain trapped in Potter's embrace forever.

 _Forever._ His brain caught up with his body and he reluctantly broke the kiss. Somehow their bodies had become entwined, Draco's leg between Potter's and … oh, god … there was no mistaking their desire for each other now. 

He once again placed his hand against Potter's chest, this time to put some small distance between them. He felt Potter's heart beating wildly in his chest and knew it matched his own. He pushed Potter away, gently but firmly, and took a moment to catch his breath. Potter did the same. He looked disheveled and dumbfounded. 

Draco peered around the pillar to check the coast was clear before stepping back out into the corridor. He turned back to Potter and in a raspy voice said, "Tell me that's not some kind of spell." 

Potter said nothing and Draco left.

***~*~***

The next day Draco planned to put as much distance between himself and Potter as he could. Thankfully, it was a Hogsmeade day and Pansy had made plans to drag him to all the shops – a weak but welcome apology for bailing on him before school. As he breathed in the cool air, he began to release some of the tension that had been a constant companion for the past couple of weeks.

Alas, it seemed a peaceful day was not to be had. Not five minutes into their walk towards Hogsmeade, Draco's path was blocked by none other than He Who Must Be Avoided. "Potter."

"Malfoy."

"Excuse me," Pansy said, stepping between the two of them and directing her ire at Potter. "You're blocking our way. Isn't it enough that we have to put up with you Gryffindorks at school? Can we not get away from you for one blessed day?" Potter looked ready to respond when Pansy continued. "Hogsmeade is that way, Potter." She motioned to the town ahead. "Kindly go there and leave us the hell alone."

Potter smiled and stepped into Pansy's personal space. Draco forced himself not to pull them apart. "I wasn't talking to you, Parkinson. I need to speak to Malfoy here." He looked at Draco. "It's important."

"Of course it is," Pansy spat. "Because you're the almighty Ha—"

Draco stopped her with a touch to her arm. "It's okay, Pans. Just give me a minute."

She glared at him. "Do whatever you want." She stormed off and didn't look back. Well, there went the shopping day.

"This better be good, Potter." He watched Pansy's retreating back. "And quick. I want to catch up with her."

"Oh." Potter's shoulders slumped slightly. "I guess … I mean …"

"Well?" Draco crossed his arms over his chest to emphasise his frustration. And maybe, just a little, to prevent himself reaching for Potter. At least with other people around he was able to distract himself from such thoughts. Damn this Veela blood.

Potter cleared his throat and composed himself once more. Draco wasn't entirely sure which version of the man was more appealing, the shy one or the confident one. Bloody hell, he needed to rid himself of this curse … infection … whatever the hell it was.

"I'll prove to you that you're not a Veela."

That caught Draco off guard. He narrowed his eyes at Potter. "What else did Granger tell you? Or maybe I should ask what else you told her."

Potter put his hands up. For a minute, Draco thought he was going to place them on Draco's chest and push him backwards until he was up against a tree or some other surface. His breath caught at the image. But Potter just motioned for Draco to wait while he explained. Thank Merlin. At the rate they were going, he wasn't sure he could keep walking away from the other man. "Just give me an hour."

Draco groaned in response. His brain supplied him with all sorts of things they could do in an hour, alone together, off school grounds. Then he remembered his plan for the day. "Pansy will kill me."

"Really?" Potter said, looking off into the distance where Pansy could no longer be seen. "Seems to me you're on your own."

"No thanks to you!"

Potter stepped closer. Draco really wished he wouldn't do that. Only that wasn't strictly true. He was so fucked. "I'd say I'm sorry about that, but … well, truth be told I don't really care much for Parkinson. You, on the other hand--" He stepped even closer and Draco could feel his breath as he leaned to whisper in Draco's ear. "You I'm getting quite used to."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and tried to calm himself. What he _wanted_ to do was drag Potter off somewhere private and spend the whole day … well. What he _needed_ to do was remind himself that none of this was real. And he needed to convince Potter of that too.

With determination, and more willpower than he would have guessed he had, he pushed Potter away from him. "That's because I'm a Veela, as I've told you a thousand times before. This isn't real. What we're feeling isn't real."

"So you do feel something for me!" Potter said in triumph.

"Argh!" It was like talking to a brick wall. Draco took a calming breath, though it didn't actually calm him. He spoke slowly and through his teeth. "It's not of my own free will. Nor is whatever you feel for me. It's just some stupid, fucked-up joke handed down by the gods to torment me. Us."

Potter smiled, clearly unconvinced. "I'll prove to you that you're not a Veela."

Draco resisted reaching for his hair and pulling out clumps of it. Potter might get under his skin – even more so lately – but he couldn't forget appearances. Which reminded him they were in a public place and had been standing far too close to one another. People might talk. Who was he kidding? The Saviour and a former Death Eater actually talking, never mind what they'd been getting up to lately, would be positively newsworthy.

"Look, Potter, we probably shouldn't be seen together."

Taken aback, Potter asked, "Why not?"

"You, me, Saviour, Death Eater? People will talk."

"People always talk."

"Yes, but not always about _me_." Draco had had quite enough attention after the war. The media had not been kind to his family – mainly his father, but often enough he and his mother were mentioned too – and he was only recently able to pick up the newspaper and not have one Malfoy or another featured. "I've grown rather fond of my privacy."

Potter laughed. "That's rich! You've never seemed too fussed about mine."

Draco waved this off. "You'll always be fodder for the media."

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Scared?"

Terrified, actually. Draco didn't know how long he could keep a proper check on his feelings. The urge to pounce on Potter seemed to grow more desperate by the day. That defiant, challenging look didn't help. _Fuck._ If his feelings were this strong now, who knew what might happen if he continued to deny the draw? He wondered idly if he could end the spell by killing the Veela that had infected him. He shook his head: no, that was the myth of Muggle vampire stories. Complete rubbish. Besides, this was real life and Draco was a Veela and there was nothing he could do about it.

"No? Great!" Potter smiled and grabbed Draco's arm, dragging him towards Hogsmeade. "Come with me then." 

Wait, what? What just happened? Oh, shit. Potter obviously took the shaking of Draco's head as his acceptance of his challenge. And now he was pulling Draco along to do who knew what in public. He yanked his arm back. "Unhand me!"

Potter stopped and turned around. "Sorry. Got carried away. I just want to show you, prove to you that you aren't a Veela."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and stood his ground. "But I am a Veela."

"No, you're not. Which I've told _you_ a thousand times."

"Yes, but you're wrong."

"I'm right and I'll prove it."

"How exactly do you propose to do that?" 

"By showing you that you don't have magical powers over everyone that comes into close proximity to you."

Well, that was just silly. He already knew that. It's not like all the students at school were falling over themselves to get to him. "Clearly."

"See, I figured you might argue that there are anti-Veela charms or something like that around Hogwarts. Which should mean that it wouldn't work on me either. But you seem hell-bent on being a Veela, so I figured you'd come up with some excuse for that."

"I do not _wish_ to be a Veela, Potter. It is simply how things are now."

Potter rolled his eyes. Why do people keep doing that to him? "They aren't. And you aren't. And I'm going to prove it."

"So you say."

"I've already told you there's no such thing as catching Veelaism. It's not a thing. But you don't believe me. Or Hermione. Or the lack of any such proof anywhere."

"Anywhere you and Granger have found. That doesn't mean it isn't a thing."

Again with the eyeroll. "You claim these feelings are something beyond our control."

Draco nodded. "Exactly. Like _Imperio._ "

"Aha!" Potter pointed at him. How rude. "I can resist _Imperio_ , as you well know. Besides, it doesn’t feel anything like that."

"Oh? What does it feel like?"

Potter blushed. Not helping. Draco pressed down on his arms to keep them in place. "It doesn't feel like _Imperio_. That's what's important. In fact, I've felt the pull of the Veela whatever it is, at the World Cup, and this doesn't feel like that either."

"Your point?"

"My point is we can walk down the streets of Hogsmeade – a place where Hogwarts' protective spells do not extend – and see if people start throwing themselves at you."

Draco wanted to argue, but Potter had a point. He hadn't been off school grounds since the Veela business took hold of him. Maybe this was the true test. But what if everyone did start throwing themselves at him? How was he supposed to deal with that?

"I'll protect you," Potter said, as though reading Draco's thoughts. Draco wasn’t sure if he wanted to smack or kiss the cheeky grin off his face.

He stormed past him instead, bumping his shoulder as he passed. "I am not some damsel in distress." Potter's laughter mocked him.

As one hour turned into two, three and then four, two things became apparent: Pansy was doing a fantastic job of avoiding Draco, and people did follow them around town. But it was Potter they followed. Draco became surlier as time progressed. He found himself playing the saviour, shooing away gaggles of girls and threatening to hex any boys that got within a few feet of Potter. He even growled at a particularly annoying group of girls that tagged along for a quarter of an hour, staring, whispering and giggling amongst themselves. He'd been horrified when he'd almost blurted out, "He's mine." _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

As they sat down in the Hog's Head about an hour before they needed to return to the school, Potter said, "See? Not a Veela."

Draco considered his glass of whiskey. What did that mean? It couldn't be true. Why would they be anything but enemies? Surely they didn't _like_ each other. Not with their history. Okay, Potter was attractive enough. Truth be told, he'd outgrown that wiry frame and filled out quite nicely. And his arse – thank you, Muggle jeans, for that view today. And that wild hair which, in the past, had looked like an unkempt mop, now looked more like he'd just tumbled out of bed. And didn't _that_ just put the wrong thoughts into Draco's head?

Wrong. That's it. This was all wrong. This couldn't work. _They_ couldn't work. They were polar opposites. Only they weren't, not really. They'd both been thrown into their lives and had little choice over what role they'd played in the war. No, wait. That wasn't true either. Potter had just made the better choices. Was the better man. And everyone knew it. Who was Draco kidding? They were playing at something that had to end in disaster.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Draco looked up to see Potter watching him. "What?"

"Sorry. Muggle thing. You looked far away and not very happy. Shouldn't you be happy?"

Draco snorted. Good lord, he'd been hanging around Pansy too long. "Why should I be happy?"

"Because you're not a Veela. No more worries about having some crazy infection making you do crazy things."

"Ah." Draco lifted the glass to his mouth, closed his eyes and slowly swallowed the contents, pleasuring in the burn as the whiskey glided down his throat. He placed the glass on the table and looked directly at Potter for the first time since they'd sat down. "So I should be _happy_ because I do crazy things without excuse. Is that what you're saying?"

Potter said nothing. What was there to say?

***~*~***

Back at school, Draco brooded. Pansy wasn't speaking to him, and frankly he was relieved. If he'd had to talk to her, she'd know something was wrong. She always did. Better to speak to no one.

Only Potter wasn't as easy to ignore. He should have been; after all, he lived in a different dorm. But somehow he infiltrated Slytherin. Not physically, of course, but in Draco's thoughts. He was always in Draco's thoughts. Why could he not escape this?

His mind kept replaying the day at Hogsmeade. Aside from the annoying people throwing themselves at Potter – some of them were quite relentless and took rather a lot of convincing to leave him the fuck alone – he'd had a nice day. Up until the end when the reality of the situation hit home. Potter was too good for him and everyone knew it. 

Everyone, it seemed, except Potter. 

It had been easier to accept, to understand in a way, when Draco thought he was a Veela. That Potter couldn't resist, was under some sort of spell, at least explained why he would ever be interested in someone like Draco.

Now it just seemed they were both mad. And wasn't that just a little bit sad?

***~*~***

A week after the day of revelation, Draco once again found himself dragged into a disused classroom by Potter.

"Right. I'm done."

"Excuse me?" Draco had no idea what Potter was talking about.

"I'm done waiting," Potter said, not helpful at all.

He stood before Draco and reached up to cup Draco's face in his hands. "I'm done waiting," Potter said. He pulled Draco slowly, gently towards him, eyes wide open, staring at Draco, daring him to resist.

But Draco didn't resist. He didn't want to resist. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to be with Potter. Fuck everyone else and what they thought. This felt right.

Over the past week he'd done a lot of soul-searching and had reached the conclusion that if Potter wanted to try this, he wasn't going to argue. He'd never wanted anyone or anything as much as he wanted Potter right now.

He smirked then dragged his tongue slowly over his lips, enjoying the shine in Potter's eyes as he took in the motion. "What took you so long?" he asked.

Then he kissed Potter. Kissed him for all he was worth and more. He let his hands explore, and Potter let him. Potter's hands deftly pulled his shirt from his trousers and reached up to run them over Draco's chest and back. Draco undid Potter's trousers and grabbed hold of that gorgeous arse that had haunted his dreams.

They pressed their bodies together, rocking their hips then rutting against each other until Potter pulled away. Draco groaned with frustration. "You sure?" Potter asked.

Heart pounding in his chest, Draco willed his breathing to slow as he watched Potter do the same. He knew that if they went any further, there'd be no turning back for them. This was no one-off between them and this would be his last chance to back away. Looking into Potter's eyes, full of desire and hope, he knew he was ready to move forward. "Definitely."

They couldn't seem to unzip their trousers fast enough. They took hold of each other, somewhat tentatively at first – Draco had never held another man's cock in his hands before. He liked the feeling. Of course that might have been the feeling of Potter holding his, but he didn't care. They kissed and tugged and gasped and moaned and somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco wondered if people walking by could hear them. Then he didn't care about anything else as he felt himself let go.

As far as orgasms went, it wasn't bad. Who was he kidding? It was with Potter. It had been great. Not the best, but then they were standing in a classroom under the threat of discovery. As hot as that might be to the build-up, the rushed nature of it all didn't lend itself to savoring the moment. He leaned over to kiss Potter and they shared a smile. Next time would be better. And the time after that. And the time after that.

After straightening up their clothes and attempting unsuccessfully to look presentable, Potter grinned. "So we're really doing this then?"

Draco brushed imaginary lint from Potter's shoulders, just to get another feel for those muscles. He could get used to touching this man whenever he wanted. "It appears so."

"And we're not going to hide this … whatever this is between us?"

"I don't hide, Potter." Draco replayed his sixth year in his mind, then quickly brushed it aside. That was his past. The man before him was his future. "Not anymore."

Potter's smile grew. "Good. Because I'm not exactly good at hiding my feelings."

Draco snorted. No shit. Draco grabbed Potter's robes and dragged him out of the classroom. "Just remember, Potter: Veelas mate for life."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love. Please comment here or on [livejournal](http://hp-creatures.livejournal.com/278285.html) for the author to see. Author will remain anonymous until reveals.


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